


Loose Lips, Sunken Ships

by ThePagemistress



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePagemistress/pseuds/ThePagemistress
Summary: Sam gets into an argument with Nate about finding Avery's treasure and goes out to blow off some steam.





	

Sam needed to blow off some steam.

He and Nathan were just hitting one dead end after another as far as Avery was concerned. Sam had trawled through every scrap of information he could find, a lot of it twice over but nothing. Well, not _nothing._  It was clear as day what the next step was.

"Sam, you can't just go waltzing into a Panamanian prison!"

"That's where the next piece of the puzzle is, I know it. See?" Sam held up a piece of paper only to have his hand immediately batted out of Nathan's face.

"I don't care! Look, we've already had too many close calls on this. Maybe..." Nathan hesitated as Sam's expression hardened, daring him to finish that sentence. "Maybe it's time we let this one go, y'know?"

Sam scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nathan, this is it. This is all there is. Mom wouldn't have-"

"Don't," Nathan said, holding up his hand and to Sam's credit, he didn't continue. "I get it. Believe me, I get it, Sam. But it's not worth it. We don't even know if there's anything _to_ find." Just as Sam went to raise the same piece of paper again, Nathan talked over him. "And what if Panama just leads to somewhere else? And then somewhere else? We could just be chasing our tails here."

"If it leads to somewhere else, then we follow it to somewhere else," Sam said, calmly. "It's called treasure _hunting_ , Nathan. Not treasure finding."

"With what money, Sam?" Nathan asked, tone growing desperate. "We're living out of a crappy motel room, living dime to dime but somehow you think we can just chase this fantasy around the world?"

"We've managed it so far, haven't we?" Sam challenged, fingers itching for a cigarette.

"Barely. I don't think swiping people's wallets and jacking cars qualifies as 'managing'."

Sam threw his arms up in the air. "Well, I don't see you offering any solutions."

"You know, that's funny, because I'm pretty sure I just gave you one. You just chose not to hear it," Nathan said, running a hand through his hair. They'd had this argument before. Several time. This one was lasting longer than most of them. Mostly because neither of them were willing to back down this time.

They fell into a tense silence; Sam glaring at the floor, fingers playing with the lighter in his pocket while Nate's eyes searched around the room, as if it might help him find the answer Sam was looking for.

"Sully mentioned a job over in Mexico. Sounded pretty good. Maybe we should-" He was cut off by Sam's dismissive scoff, watching as his brother turned away and grabbed his jacket. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Where?"

"I'm going to go figure out how to get into a Panamanian prison. Why don't you go plan your little trip with Victor if his deal is more important than finishing this," Sam said, nudging past Nate to get out of the door, grabbing his keys and cigarettes on the way out, ignoring Nate shouting after him.

~*~

Of course, Sam had no intention of figuring out how to get into the Panamanian prison, not tonight. He'd been trying to figure it out for days and he knew it wasn't suddenly going to come to him so what was the point of wasting a perfectly good night trying?

Instead, he just walked and walked, trying to clear his head, trying to understand where Nathan was coming from. And he did, to a degree. Nathan had always followed Sam's lead but lately he'd been questioning him a lot more and Sam wasn't so much opposed to it as just...thrown off. And when he was thrown off, he tended to get overly defensive. Which had been what led to so many of their arguments. Sam wanted to do something risky, Nathan questioned it, Sam snapped back at him, so used to just being able to do what he wanted.

He blamed Sullivan. 

Victor had introduced him to all kinds of other adventures, had been luring him away from Sam's influence for years. Nathan had latched onto the Francis Drake legacy much like Sam clung to Avery and he couldn't fault him for that without being hypocritical. But it caused friction. Because while Nathan was growing more and more interested in discovering all kinds of treasures across the world, Sam got more and more wrapped up in trying to find The Gunsway. And when once he'd thought they'd be in this together until the bitter end, he was starting to feel more and more adrift.

Who in their right mind would go into a Panamanian prison on their own, anyway? Sam didn't _want_  to, he'd appreciate some kind of back up but he wasn't going to coerce Nathan into joining him if he wasn't interested any more. God, even the thought hurt. This was supposed to be their legacy. To finish what their mother had started. Together. 

Sam was distracted from his thoughts by loud music coming from a house down the street. He realised he'd walked all the way into the fancy neighbourhood, surrounded by the kinds of house with more bedrooms than the motel he was currently sleeping in.

The cigarettes were keeping his mind busy but he could really do with a drink right about now so figured he'd go and investigate, see if there was alcohol going free at the impromptu house party.

He wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion but Sam had never had trouble blending into a crowd. The front door was closed but it sounded like most of the action was coming from the back anyway so he strolled through the open gate, expecting to find some kind of pool party in full swing.

Well, there was definitely a party but surprisingly no pool. There was a _fountain._  And the people were dressed to the nines and drinking champagne provided by actual serving staff. Definitely not the sort of party he'd been expecting but he wasn't about to complain. Instead of drunk teenagers, he was surrounded by drunk rich adults, all the better to mingle with and not seem so out of place.

Sam made a beeline for what appeared to be an honest to god bar in the house. "Got a beer?"

"On tap or bottle?"

Sam couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. He'd struck gold. "Tap. And keep 'em comin', would ya?" The barman merely raised a curious eyebrow at Sam's scruffy attire but made no comment. What difference did it make to him who invited themselves to the party, after all?

Sam stayed at the bar, drinking glass after glass, watching all the people - worth millions undoubtedly - tripping over each other and smashing what had to be stupidly expensive glassware in their drunkeness. Sam had never envied rich people. He'd spent most of his life trying to get rich quick but it usually just resulted in him and Nathan getting by. He couldn't even imagine what it must be like to be born into it like these people must have been. Or maybe they married into it. Or were _trying_  to marry into it. He studied the way the guests interacted with each other, initially to try and find an easy mark but then, deciding it was _too_  easy, just out of curiosity. He marvelled at the way so many of them still managed to be fake, even when they were so completely drunk.

He'd come out to have a good time and, while the beer was possibly the best he had had in recent years, the company was making him miserable. He should apologise to Nathan. Maybe Victor. No, Victor could go fuck himself. But Nathan...he was just trying to look out for them. He was a good kid.

"I don't think we've met."

Sam turned to see a young man sidled up beside him, hair slicked back and flute of champagne in his hand. He looked far more put together than the majority of people surrounding them which led to Sam making one conclusion. "This your party?"

The man narrowed his eyes, smirk forming on his face. "Very good. Yes, although it's more of an annual thing my family hosts. For clients, potential clients things like that." Sam nodded, taking another swig of his beer. "Something tells me you weren't invited."

Sam smirked back at him. "What gave me away?" he said, waving a hand down across his ragged t-shirt and jeans, causing the man to chuckle. "But don't worry, I was just on my way out. Not exactly my idea of a good time," he continued as he downed the rest of his glass and placed it on the counter.

But before he could make a move to pull away, the man moved just far enough in front of him to block his way without being threatening. "Maybe you just haven't been talking to the right people," he said, signalling the barman to pour another beer.

And Sam considered the situation. Nathan was probably still pissed at him. Or he _had_  gone to Victor's and wasn't even going to be there when he got back to the motel. So there was no harm in hanging around for a bit longer, right? He leaned back against the bar, grabbing the now full beer (and how many was he on now, six?) and watched as the man smiled back at him, a satisfied glint in his eye. "Maybe you're right about that," Sam relented as he brought the glass to his lips.

~*~

It had been awhile since Sam had woken up with a hangover. It had been even longer since he felt _this_ bad. His head was pounding so hard, it took him about ten minutes to even consider moving into a more comfortable position. He considered yelling for Nathan to bring him some asprin but even the _thought_ of hearing sounds made his head hurt even more. 

At least the bed was comfortable for a change.

Wait no. That wasn't right. The motel beds were like sleeping directly on springs. Sam had even voluntarily slept on the chair one night when he couldn't bring himself to suffer another straight night of torture. This wasn't his bed. And this wasn't the motel.

He tried to think back to the night before. He'd spent most of the day looking over maps and notes, par for the course. He'd got into an argument with Nathan, par for the fucking course. He'd gone to a club? No, he found a house party. With beer. Amazing beer. And then... That guy. There was a guy who'd approached him and talked to him. And he'd been interesting. And interested. He didn't remember anything they talked about, just that they talked a lot.

And then there was less talking. Sam had flashes of recollection. Of slamming the guy up against a wall and sticking his tongue down his throat. Or was it the other way around? Maybe it was both. He definitely remembered being pinned down on a bed at some point, aware that he probably had bruises on numerous parts of his anatomy. Had that been  _this_ bed?

What the hell was his name? Robert? Roger? It definitely began with an R. But nothing so ordinary. Of all the things that were a blur, Sam remembered clear as day thinking "of course" when the guy had said his name. It was just so very 'him'. What the fuck _was_  it?

Sam wracked his brain, more memories flashing by too quick to get a real picture but remembering the sensations all too well. The sharp pain of bites along his shoulder, the sting of nails digging into his back, the liquid lust in his stomach as the man laughed wickedly in his ear as Sam fucked him.

Sam shifted slightly, aware of other parts of his body waking up ahead of him from the memories.

"Morning."

Sam's eyes flew open and he shot upright, regretting it immediately as his brain protested the movement. 

"Rafe," Sam said, the name popping into his conscious now that he was actually face to face with him. He was perched on the edge of the bed, pants back on but flies and belt still undone so presumably he hadn't been up long. His shirt and dinner jacket - fuck, he'd been wearing a _dinner jacket ,_ who were these people - were nowhere to be seen. He also noticed that Rafe was busy going through his wallet. 

He turned to look at Sam, amused smile on his face. "Oh, so you do remember. I had a little bet with myself whether you would or not." He shifted a little so he was perched more firmly on the bed, turning himself to face Sam directly, tapping what looked to be Sam's drivers' license rhythmically on his wallet. "So. Samuel. I gotta admit, I don't know what to make of you."

Sam stared back at him, wishing he could remember more about him, wishing he knew how best to act around him. "Oh?"

"Because, you know, I could have sworn that everything that came out of your mouth last night was bullshit. I would have put money on you showing up here just to rob me or my guests. And man, I wouldn't have even blamed you, they were making it embarrassingly easy. But you didn't."

"What can I say, I like a challenge," Sam said, continuing to hedge his bets.

"I can tell," Rafe said, offering up a smirk. "I would also have put money on you lying about your name. And yet..." he said, making more of a show of tapping the ID to make his point. "So I'm guessing you probably _do_ have a brother called Nathan who doesn't appreciate everything you do for him."

Wow, shit, he had really had more to drink than he thought. Even when drunk, he's usually more careful than that; able to keep up a persona that's far enough removed from Sam Drake that it won't catch up to him at a later date. "Yeah well, you know siblings, right?"

"No," Rafe said, bluntly. "But you know what I'm wondering now?" Sam shook his head. "I'm wondering just how much of this Gunsway treasure story might actually be true."

....Fuck.

_Fuck._

Too much. The answer to 'how much had he had to drink' was too fucking much. How could he be so _stupid?_

"Because, I looked it up on my phone," Rafe continued, oblivious to Sam's self-berating or at least indifferent to it, "and there's really not a whole lot to go on. But you...you knew all kinds of things. Fascinating things."

"Well, I was always a big pirate fan when I was a kid, y'know. Guess that resurfaces when there's beer. Lots of beer."

Rafe continued to stare at him, knowing smile on his face. Like he could read Sam like a book. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with and he couldn't say he liked it much. "I could help."

"Help what?"

"You said you had a fight with your brother about money. Not being able to afford to go places. I could help with that."

Warning bells were going off in Sam's brain, telling him nope, bad idea, back away. But there was something about this guy. Something infuriatingly...interesting about him. "What, like a benefactor?"

"Mm, not quite. More like a partner," he said, moving closer, all confidence and charm as he dropped Sam's wallet into his lap.

Sam laughed to himself. "Let me guess. Half and half?"

"You do me a disservice, Samuel. A third. Can't forget that unappreciative brother of yours, after all."

Sam knew he should decline, especially without Nathan there to discuss it with. He wouldn't go for it. Hell, _Sam_ wouldn't go for it. How many time had he said this was _their_  treasure. _Their_  quest. Why would he let some random one night stand get in on their life's - their _mother's_ life's - work?

But his thoughts returned to the argument the night before. The stalemate. There was no going forward, not without money. Not without some kind of backer. Sam looked up at Rafe to see him still watching him carefully, trying to decipher what was running through his head. "It wouldn't just be money. We need connections."

"Samuel, have a little faith. You put your trust in me last night, you can do it again. And I'll trust that you know what you're talking about with this treasure."

"What's in it for you?" Sam asked, out of the blue, catching Rafe off-guard. "I mean, the Gunsway haul is probably $18 million dollars worth of gold at best. Is that really all that much to a guy like you?" he asked, waving a hand around as if to encapsulate the grand surroundings.

And for the first time since Sam could remember talking to him, he felt like he'd gotten the upper hand. Even if just for a moment. Rafe floundered for a response, visibly trying to formulate something that would be acceptable. In the end, he said, "It gets boring. Living off the family name. Always being accused of making a name from daddy's money. If I could make a name for _myself_ with something like this. Some significant historical find...That would shut them all up."

Sam couldn't really argue with that. It seemed like a perfect match. Aside from the fact that Sam had no idea who this guy was and how much he could trust him. Convincing Nathan was going to be fun.

"Alright. A third of the treasure."

"And recognition for the discovery."

"Right," Sam agreed, not really caring all that much about getting his name in the papers. He just wanted to find the damn thing for himself.

"There can be other perks too, if you want," Rafe said, raising an unsubtle eyebrow and reminding Sam just how naked he was right now.

"I think sticking to partners - _business_ partners - is the best way forward here, you know?" Sam said, looking around for his clothes. 

"Hey, whatever you say. What about that brother of yours, think he'd be interested?"

Sam's head whipped around, ready to tell him to back off but Rafe was already holding his hands up in placation. "Kidding. The guy sounds like he's got a stick up his ass anyway. Which some would say coming from me? Is saying something."

"Look just...leave Nathan to me," Sam said, pulling on his pants. He already knew the conversation was going to go poorly, the last thing he needed was images of Rafe putting moves on his brother. "He'll come around."

"Yeah, well he better," Rafe said and the tone had more bite to it than Sam liked. "We all need to be on the same page here for this to work. We've got to have trust, Samuel."

"It's Sam," he corrected. "No one calls me Samuel."

"Well, one thing you'll learn about me. I like to be different. Samuel," Rafe said, that wicked glint back in his eye.

Sam left the house with a bad feeling in his gut but a pocket full of cash, a phone number and a promise of greased palms in a Panamanian prison. And that was really all that mattered. Right?


End file.
